


with timidness

by orphan_account



Series: Soft and Tender [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Keith just wants a smooch, Lance also wants a smooch, M/M, Mindless Fluff, the beginning of their relationship, the smooch happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 02:58:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18306806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: five times Lance pulls a little sneaky on Keith and one time Keith does the same.(first kiss)





	with timidness

**Author's Note:**

> me: now how do we describe this?  
> brain: warm  
> me: yeah, but we've used warm a million times, maybe—  
> brain: waRM
> 
> let's dive into the beginning of their relationship, shall we?
> 
> it's really late, so sorry for any kind of typos.
> 
> there are some songs involved, so here are the links:  
> [Stuck On You by Elvis Presley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVqR2PwX428)  
> [If You're On The Water by The Saxophones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ueepVVGWyI)  
> [the mashup](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyx_VkXOzzQ)
> 
> enjoy :3

_I_

Keith likes to listen. The base of it is that, yes, he’s not much of a talker to begin with, but he genuinely likes to, just, listen.

When he’s with Lance, he likes talking equally as much.

It’s their fourth date and he… can’t stop telling him about all the times Shiro was not as mature as he likes the others to believe and Keith had to help him out of the mess he had created. He feels a distant sting in his jaw from talking so much, but he doesn’t stop. Keith wants Lance to know things about him, he’s never really had someone to share them with—Adam has witnessed them all and Shiro was the cause of them—so, he enjoys telling him stories. And the way Lance is looking at him—like he’s hearing the most amazing tale ever when, in fact, it’s only about how Shiro once took five minutes to tie his shoelaces because his grandpa genes made him forget how to—it’s like fuel to his enthusiasm. So, he talks and talks and talks.

And then they’re standing in front of Lance’s dorm and Keith realizes that he’d been talking, maybe, a little too much?

“Sorry,” he says, sheepishly because, jeez, Lance must be deaf by now. “You wanted to tell me about your pet duck and I just… didn’t let you.”

Lance snorts.

“I can tell you about Flappy any other day, this. This is so much blackmail on Shiro, dude, you have no idea what kind of power you have granted me with,” he says.

Lance is wearing a big, puffy red coat—because, apparently, March is still too cold for the desert—that he kind of gets lost in and it makes him look smaller and even more endearing. As if that weren’t enough to give Keith an aneurysm, Lance has this baby blue beanie with some fins sewed on its sides and ‘Santa Jaws’ written on the front.

“You didn’t hear anything from me, though,” he warns. “Tell him it was Adam, he’s a gossip anyway.”

“You’re a gossip, too!” Lance points an accusing finger at him. “I had no idea you knew words other than ‘Form Voltron’ or ‘Emo’ or ‘Mullet’,” Lance mocks and laughs when Keith frowns at him.

“You’re just easy to talk to,” Keith mumbles, feeling his cheeks warming up.

“I’m glad, I like listening to you,” says Lance. And he smiles at him. Cheekily.

Lance has smiled at him before, but now, after they’d started dating, it’s so. It’s so filter-less, much more sincere and so true and warm. And beautiful. Lance is so goddamn _beautiful_.

Keith reaches a hand, hesitantly cupping the side of Lance’s face. He touches him tentatively, timidly, sliding his thumb across the faded freckles that are becoming darker as the sun comes out more. It’s so new, the fact that Keith is _allowed_ to touch Lance like this is so new and amazing.

“You look dopey,” says Lance, leaning into his touch; his smile widens and his cheeks turn into the prettiest shade of pink. Keith lifts his other hand and starts pinching Lance’s cheeks, stretching them to the sides a little. “Ow, ow owowow.”

“ _You_ look cute,” he says and, just as he predicted, Lance turns bright red. Who knew the one, who claims to be the Lover Boy, was so blushy and shy? Keith is loving this revelation.

“My cheeks hurt,” says Lance, rubbing his face and frowning at Keith. Keith snickers and smiles at him innocently, linking his hands behind his own back.

Lance sighs. “I better go inside; I have a paper to write and I promised Coran I’d show him what a lizard is the first thing in the morning.”

Keith hums, flicking his eyes across the other’s features—features he can _touch_. Keith’s eyes find his lips, but only stay there for a mere second; just looking at them has Keith’s heart doing leaps.

Then Lance’s eyes cast sideways. “Who’s that?” he asks.

Keith follows his gaze and as soon as his face is turned from Lance, he feels something against his cheek. It’s brief, chaste and featherlight, but Keith makes out the softness of his lips, almost feels the small smile against his skin.

Keith snaps his head back to look at Lance. He just grins at him and winks.

“Bamboozled,” he stage-whispers and walks into his dorm.

Keith is a little… not on this planet anymore. The skin on his cheek burns—it takes every ounce of self-control not to rub his fingers there—the fire spreads in every inch of his body. God, a simple kiss on a cheek has him melting, Keith might actually die when they kiss properly.

He wills himself to walk back home, almost ripping his chest open to physically calm his heart down. It keeps skipping beats, jumping around like a freaking kangaroo and spreading warmth through his veins like wildfire.

He can’t stop smiling like a fool either.

 

_II_

When Keith first cut through the air, he felt a special kind of contentment. He felt free, he felt in control and he felt like he finally belonged somewhere. He knows he had a reputation, the best pilot, top of the class. And maybe he was good, hell, maybe even great for such a young age. But the truth is, it had never been about being the best, or at the top—it’s still not about that. It was about being away. Away from the ground, away from the people, away from the Keith that had been so alone and so angry and so—

It was about flying, not for the sake of pleasing his teachers but, simply, for the sake of flying. To feel the gravity whenever he fell into free fall for mere seconds, to take his mind off of everything except how he could glide through clouds.

When Keith first saw Blue, he felt a completely different kind of contentment. He had felt useful, had felt important, had felt like he was an indispensability for something big, something unknown but universal. And for once, he hadn’t felt alone. At some point in collecting information about Shiro and tracing down the mysterious connection he had felt towards Blue, Keith had found a family. And he had found Lance.

Now, as he sits on the couch at Shiro’s and Adam’s apartment, with Lance slumped beside him and everyone else around, he feels inexplicably content in the most tranquil way. And it’s so new, feeling this way, feeling grounded and… calm. Peaceful and not afraid and so, so at home. Feeling the way Lance leans into him, feeling the way his warmth travels through Keith, travels through his skin and into his bones and finds a permanent home there. It all feels new and Keith welcomes it with open arms.

Keith smiles to himself as he looks at Lance talking to Hunk. Hunk says something and Lance laughs.

His laugh—Keith had noticed this way back when they were still getting used to living in The Castle—is all-consuming. Lance laughs with his whole body—his shoulders shaking and his head tilted back and his hands usually wrapped around his stomach. And his laugh sounds like a melody. Keith has read in books countless times how lovers see galaxies in each other’s eyes, how their laughter is worth dying for, how their smile is brighter than a million sunsets and he always thought those were exaggerated.

Well, Keith has seen galaxies, he has seen hundreds of sunsets and more, and the way Lance laughs, Keith will admit with all the glory of cheesiness and sappiness, is the most beautiful thing in the world, is worth more than just galaxies and sunsets and stars. He doesn’t even know what has gotten Lance laughing so hard, he can’t really focus on anything else but him.

Lance catches him staring.

“Where’s your shame?” he says once Hunk’s attention is off of them and back on Pidge trying to fit forty dumplings in their mouth.

“What’s a shame, is it edible?” he answers, still staring. Keith’s lips quirk up slightly when Lance laughs, flicking his ear when Keith won’t stop looking at him.

“You’re insufferable,” says Lance; his cheeks turn darker and Keith runs his gaze over it with a pleased smile.

“Am I though?” asks Keith, smirking.

Lance seems to consider it. “Hm… only sometimes.”

“Yeah? Like when?” Keith says; his voice unwillingly becomes lower, and Keith is damn proud of the way it has Lance’s eyes go foggy for a moment.

Lance leans in closer, almost seductively, and says: “Like when you won’t admit that sharks can take on hippos. And win.”

Well, the moment is officially ruined, and Keith is actively throwing his hands in the air with infuriation. “Hippos are one of the most dangerous animals and you’re saying that a side-eyed jaw fishling can—"

“Fishling?!” Lance gasps, his face downright offended. “How dare you?! Sharks have been around even before God knew what hippos were! Respect your ancestors, Keith, you don’t want a bunch of badass shark ghosts eating your soul at night, do you?”

“How is a hippo’s ancestor…” Keith pauses to give Lance a look. “...a shark?”

“I don’t know, but they are,” he says, squinting at Keith as he points a finger at him. “The sharks told me.”

“The sharks told you,” Keith echoes, fixing Lance with an unamused look.

“Yes, when I was nine,” Lance nods and crosses his arms, chin tilted up almost proudly. He adds as an afterthought: “If you must know, it was the Great Wise Evangeline from Varadero Aquarium.”

Keith opens his mouth for a retort, but Adam cuts them off.

“I swear on my tiny cup collections, if you two start with this argument _again_ I’ll make you two eat boiled broccoli. And nothing else,” Adam calls from the kitchen, pinching the bridge of his nose with irritation. Keith shuts his mouth with a click; he knows Adam means every single word he just said; besides, he swore on his cups, probably the purest thing there is for him, Keith is not taking any risks.

But when he looks back at Lance and sees that smug smile on his face, he can’t really help himself.

“Well, did your ‘wise’—” He does air quotations. “—shark friend tell you… how unbelievably blue your eyes are?”

Lance’s expression wavers; it’s just too easy.

Pidge makes gagging noises somewhere behind; Keith’s not sure if it’s because of them or the dumplings—he guesses it’s both.

Keith smirks and slowly trails a purposeful line on Lance’s arm with his finger.

“Or how beautiful you are when you smile?” he adds, and he knows it’s disgustingly cheesy—Pidge makes another gagging noise, as if to prove Keith’s point—but it’s no less true. And Keith would be embarrassed, but now Lance’s cheeks are flushed and his brows are a bit creased and his mouth is tucked down into a flustered frown.

“No,” says Lance with a firm voice, but it doesn’t match his expression or the new shade of red on his cheeks.

Keith lifts his hand and cups Lance’s cheek just so he can feel exactly how warm the skin there has gotten—how warm _he_ has gotten it. Lance’s eyebrow twitches a little, but he sighs and leans into the touch.

Keith briefly thinks how he could kiss Lance right now, turn his cheeks even redder and face warmer. He shakes the thought away quickly. Keith doesn’t want their first kiss to be this… public. He prefers when there’s no audience, just the two of them.

Instead, he does a tucking gesture, sliding his fingers across the short strands of Lance’s hair and then behind his ear, and, to his surprise, it makes the other boy blush even more. Keith raises an eyebrow and makes a mental note to do that more often.

“Oh?” he says, amused. “Blushy boy.”

“Shut up!”

“People are trying to break records here, would you mind getting a room?” Pidge says, their voice muffled from the number of dumplings they’re trying to chew.

Keith doesn’t even acknowledge them, while Lance snaps his eyes behind Keith’s shoulder, a glare on his face. But it soon turns into an awestruck look and he’s gaping.

“Pidge, no way!” he says, and Keith follows his gaze and—

Lance kisses him, again, at the same exact spot from three days ago and it burns just as severely as before—sending warmth through his veins and setting fire to his skin. Keith whips his head back, his heart destroying the ribcage.

_Goddammit, it’s just a kiss on a cheek, don’t fucking faint over it!_

“Now who’s blushing, bitch!” calls Lance, his voice triumphant, and stands up. He winks and makes those stupid finger gun gesture and moonwalks into the kitchen.

Keith hears a chuckle over the loud heartbeat echoing in his ears.

He glares at Shiro. “Shut up!”

Shiro bursts out laughing, and Hunk joins him.

“Please don’t turn this into a competition,” groans Pidge, still chewing. “I’ll stop being friends with you.”

“Shut up!” Keith says, embarrassed.

 

_III_

Keith is so fucking hungry he might die.

“I am so fucking hungry I might die,” he groans, slumping further onto the table. Lance pats him on the head, letting out a sympathetic hum.

“There, there,” he says, voice casual. “Just five more minutes.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” says Keith, turning his head to the side so he can look up at Lance. His stomach growls and Keith squishes his cheek further onto the table.

“Now I _mean_ it,” Lance smiles down at him, now brushing his fingers through his hair.

Casual. The way Lance touches him is so casual, so normal and habitual. It’s new but feels almost ancient. It makes Keith feel all warm and soft and calm, it means he’s not messing this up and it means that Lance is comfortable around him. Keith wonders, sometimes, if Lance feels the same way about this—their familiarity with each other that feels both new and old.

“What?” asks Lance.

“Hm?”

“You’re giving me—a look.”

“Nothing,” says Keith, sitting up and clearing his throat, feeling ashamed to be caught staring—Keith stares, it’s nothing surprising and new and mostly he’s not bothered by it, but when he stares because he is so lost into the new-formed feelings that he doesn’t even _notice_ he’s started staring, well, that’s personal and intimate and naked and Keith is not sure if revealing the intensity of those feelings to Lance is a good idea, yet. He fights the heat down from his face.

Lance squints at him, but his attention is off of Keith as the waiter finally brings their food; it takes all of his willpower not to whoop. Keith breaks apart the chopsticks and throws two sushi into his mouth.

As he swallows, Keith notices that Lance hasn’t touched his food, instead, he’s glaring down at his plate—or at the chopsticks next to it.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“They didn’t bring a helper,” grumbles Lance, still glaring at the two sticks like they have offended his ancestors.

“You don’t know how to use chopsticks?” asks Keith, surprise sneaking into his voice. For some reason he hadn’t expected Lance to not know how to eat with chopsticks, he just… seems like a guy who’d know how to use them. He’s always so willing to learn the culture of various planets they visit.

“I mean, we always used helpers when we ordered Chinese,” says Lance. “Marco’s the only one who knows how to use them properly and because he’s a pain in the ass, he never taught me.” Lance slowly lifts the chopsticks up and breaks them apart.

Lance looks down at Keith’s hand and then back on his own and tries to mimic the way he's holding the chopsticks.

“It looks a lot easier in anime,” he grumbles and Keith lets out an amused laugh.

“Here, lemme just—” He reaches for Lance’s hand, taking the chopsticks into one of his own and gently holding Lance’s hand with the other—his skin is soft, which is expected because Lance is always carrying those hand creams around, but Keith’s still a little stunned by how smooth it feels.

Keith instructs him how to hold them properly, patiently waiting for Lance to use his fingers the right way, all the while cradling his hand with his own—it feels nice, okay?! The fact that he can hold Lance’s hand just because he wants to feel amazing (and his skin there feels so soft that he, quite possibly, won’t be able to physically let go).

“You have nice nails,” Keith says, absentmindedly, and slides a finger over Lance’s thumbnail. Keith has always found Lance’s fingers… attractive and pretty, with how long and slender they are. And how they look perfect when linked with his own. Now that he’s looking at them closely, he notices just how nicely shaped his nails are, too—at this point, Keith is convinced Lance is a work of art.

“Mom used to put chili peppers on our fingers so we wouldn’t bite them,” says Lance, smiling to himself. “I once convinced Rachel she had an eyelash in her eye and made her cry.”

“You’re horrible.”

“She ate the last cookie,” defends Lance. “Everyone knows not to eat the last cookie without asking first!”

“How many times did _she_ trick you after that?”

Lance looks sideways, furrowing his brows and puffing his cheeks; God, he’s adorable. “I’d prefer not to answer that question.”

Keith snickers.

“Okay, just, don’t forget, only the top one moves,” says Keith, nodding his head at the chopsticks, and retrieves his hands back to himself.

“Well, _obviously_ it’s the top one doing all the work,” says Lance, clicking his chopsticks together before looking at him with wiggling brows and a shit-eating grin.

Keith smacks him on the arm and Lance laughs.

“Wait, shouldn’t I hold it like that guy?” asks Lance and jerks his head towards someone behind Keith’s back.

Keith turns his head but the realization comes too late because—

“Stop doing that!” he squeaks, frowning at Lance half-heartedly; Keith resists the urge to rub at his cheek, to check if it’s actually on fire or not. It’s embarrassing, the effect Lance has on him.

“Bamboozled again!” Lance whispers loudly and smirks at him smugly; Keith doesn’t know if he should glare or smile at how dorky Lance is being right now.

What he _knows_ is that he should really stop falling for the same damn trick over and over again, it’s embarrassing. Keith ignores the voice in his head that tells him it’s also endearing.

“Aww, am I embarrassing you, babe?” coos Lance.

“You’re a sap,” says Keith, his cheeks still feeling warm. Lance snickers, smiling so beautifully that Keith leans his head on his hand and—looks at him.

Keith looks at Lance as he tries to lift a sushi and fails for four times. He looks at Lance when he finally brings the food to his mouth. He looks at Lance as he starts to talk, telling him stories and making him laugh with his witty remarks. He looks at the single rice stuck on the corner of his mouth—he kind of wants to wipe it off.

Lance is in the middle of telling him how he and Hunk had once snuck in five little kittens without Iverson noticing. And that stupid rice is still on his face; Keith’s kind of been staring at it for the last minute or two.

“So, we made these tiny beds from our pillowcases—” he says, chewing his food while being oblivious of how Keith might be having a minor crisis because of a single fucking rice, stubbornly stuck on his skin, right next to his mouth, so close to his lips—

Keith lifts a hand and gently wipes the rice away, and because he can’t not do it, because Lance’s lips are right there, he wipes his thumb over his bottom lip. It’s soft, a little squishy under his touch and Keith is staring at it, he knows he’s staring like crazy but. But it’s _soft_ and _squishy_ and so fucking suggestive that Keith might collapse.

He runs his thumb over it once more, pushing a little so he can feel exactly how squashy it is under his touch.

“Um,” Lance breathes out.

Keith starts at that but doesn’t jerk away. He lingers for a second longer, staring at the velvet lips; they’re parted in the most delicious looking way. Keith kind of wants to push his thumb into—

_No, nope, no no no, too soon, too fucking soon. Abort, abort!_

“You had rice,” Keith says dumbly and finally, with great regret, peels his finger away from Lance’s lips. Honestly, he doesn’t even feel ashamed by it, Lance has amazing lips and he’s allowed to touch it, okay?! Unless…

“Sorry if it was weird,” Keith blurts out because _he_ might’ve enjoyed it, but what if Lance didn’t. Oh, God, what if Keith made him uncomfortable? He quickly adds: “You just, you had rice and I kind of—kind of got carried away.”

“Oh.” Lance is staring, mouth still agape. His eyes are comically wide and his cheeks are as red as a dying sunset. Then he blinks. “Oh, yeah, totally. I mean— no,” he clears his throat, looking away. “It wasn’t weird. I—uh, yep, not weird. It was cool—I mean, not cool, like—helpful. No more rice on my face, so, yep, helpful. Extremely helpful.” He shuts his mouth with a click, still not looking at Keith; his cheeks seem even darker than before.

Keith watches him, his previous worry now replaced by mild amusement.

“I mean, I can do it again if you enjoyed it this much,” mocks Keith, making sure his voice is just the right kind of low, the kind that, hopefully, will make Lance’s skin crawl. “It’s my pleasure, really.”

Lance frowns up at him. “Just let me eat without the fear of a heart attack.”

Keith snickers and Lance frowns some more, now chewing idly.

 

_IV_

Keith hates a lot of things.

He hates when it takes half an hour for Shiro to apply his eyeliner. He hates when his hair looks like a different dimension—the kind where only chaos rules. He hates that the bananas in his fridge turn black in a blink of an eye.

Most of all, he hates when he can’t go on a mission with Lance.

Shiro dismisses them after an hour-long meeting and Keith makes his way to the hangars. He’s grumpy, sleepy—because of course the meeting had to be at six-thirty in the morning—and he’s in a horrible mood.

“Are you trying to use laser-eyes or is that just your face?” he hears from behind.

Keith turns to Lance, who’s smiling at him lovingly. “Hey,” greets Keith.

“Hi,” Lance greets back. “Still upset about the mission?”

“A little.”

Lance hums, walking closer. He stops right in front of him, his hands held behind his back.

“Well, I think I got just the right thing to cheer you up,” he says.

Unwittingly, Keith’s eyes flick down on Lance’s lips but snap back up quickly when the bottom one is captured between his teeth. Keith’s heart hammers in his chest with anticipation and, maybe, a drop of desire.

But Lance doesn’t lean in the way Keith wishes he would, instead he lifts his arms and nods at the cookie in his hand.

It’s shaped like Keith’s head, the mullet clearly exaggerated and emphasized, and it’s colored with glossy frosting. The cookie Keith is frowning.

“A cookie me?” asks Keith, raising a brow at him.

Lance nods, his expression sincere and childish in the most endearing way. “A cookie you. And it’s a frowny baby, too,” says Lance, a gleeful smile on his lips.

God, Lance is so freaking adorable.

“I’m not a frowny baby,” he grumbles, but grabs the cookie and takes a bite; it tastes a little like lemon. He offers Lance a bite; he chomps the mullet off.

“Just admit you like my mullet,” Keith says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance says over a mouthful, fighting back a smile but Keith still notices the way his lips quirk up slightly.

Keith takes another bite and lets Lance have the last piece.

“Feel any less grumpy?” Lance asks after he swallows; he steps closer and lifts his hands to wraps them around Keith’s neck. Lance starts playing with the dark locks; Keith secretly loves the faint brushing of Lance’s fingers against the base of his neck.

“A little,” says Keith, winding his own arms around the other boy’s waist.

“You know I’ll be fine, right?”

“I know, I just—” Keith puffs his cheeks and pouts. “I don’t like that we have to split up,” he grumbles, frowning. Lance is now smiling at him in a soft way.

“Am I a bad person for enjoying this? You being worried for me,” says Lance and Keith laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Nah,” Keith says, his voice comes out dottier than intended. “You’re still wonderful.” Lance grins, it’s toothy and wide and bright, crinkling his eyes and adding a significant spark to his blues.

“Keith, ready to go?” he hears and turns to Allura, nodding and shouting a quick _be right there._

When Lance gently brushes his lips across Keith’s cheek, he’s not exactly surprised and his heart doesn’t skip five beats. It’s calmer this time, like a steady flow of a river, and instead of filling his stomach with dancing butterflies and burning sparks, Keith feels at ease, he feels reassured and a little at peace.

“Hunk and I will be fine,” Lance whispers against his skin. He lingers a second longer, nosing at his scar gently, he kisses him once more, now on the other cheek and leans away. “Try not to be reckless, I don’t want you coming back with a missing limb, Kogane,” he warns, his tone light and joking but Keith catches the note of worry, sees the way his brows are furrowed a little from it.

“I’ll try,” he smiles. Lance smiles back and leans in for a hug, burying his face into Keith’s neck—the armor makes it a little awkward, but Keith enjoyed it nonetheless.

Keith tightens his hold, breathing in the smell of coconuts and Lance. Lance’s strands tickle his cheek and his breaths are warm against the skin on his neck and Keith thinks it’s incredible, thinks that it’s wonderful that he knows what hugging Lance this close and tight feels like.

They pull apart and share a private, meaningful smile that has Keith’s soul all doting and warm and—happy, a calm, peaceful sort of happiness.

“See you soon,” says Lance and takes a step back.

“See you soon,” Keith says back and after a moment, turns around.

 

_V_

“—Imma tell you somethin’,” Lance slurs, his weight heavy on Keith’s side. Keith sighs and tries to fit the key to his apartment door one more time; it clicks open. “Flappy was NOT a dumb duck like Veronica says, he was an intellictur—an intellenctural—an inrter— _carajo_!” he frowns, frustrated and Keith pats him on the shoulder, trying to hold back a smile.

“It’s okay, take your time, sweetheart,” he tells him and basically carries him into the living room.

“INTELLECTUAL!” Lance shouts and nods his head, seeming to be proud of himself; Keith’s ears ring a little. “Flappy was an intellectual, I would tell ‘im to stop quacking and he’d stop quacking.” Lance slumps on the couch and Keith helps him out of his shoes. “And he was… was good at hugs. He bit m’ear sometimes, but it was still good.”

Lance yawns and flops on his side; he looks up at Keith with sleepy, half-lidded eyes and smiles lazily.

Keith sits next to him, smiling back at him warmly.

“Someone said they were good at holding their liquor,” Keith teases and Lance nudges him on the side with a knee.

“Shuddup,” he huffs, rolling his eyes; he looks so sleepy and his hair is so fluffy Keith can’t stop smiling for the life of him. “Adam’s tough, I didn’t expect such… uhh, didn’t expect… I’m lazy, you get the idea.”

Keith snickers. “It’s okay, I still like you even when you smell like vodka and garbage.”

“I smell like Unicorn shit, thank you very much,” Lance amends, tilting his chin up and probably, aiming for a stern look; he just looks funny and, again, Keith will never get tired of mentioning this, very fucking cute.

“I’ll go bring you some water and a blanket,” Keith says and stands up.

“I’m stayin’ here? At your place?” Lance asks and he sounds genuinely surprised. Keith turns and looks at him with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“I mean, yeah? Unless you don’t want to,” he scratches his elbow, feeling a little uncertain now. “I can take you back to your dorm and—”

“No, no I—your couch’s comfy, s’fine,” Lance assures and Keith deflates immediately. “Besides, you’ll be here, so, yeah… totally fine,” he adds and smiles.

Keith’s entire chest feels warm and he quickly turns to bring a glass of water for Lance before he can make out the embarrassingly dopey expression on his face.

“You don’t feel sick, do you?” Keith asks as he sits down on the couch and offers Lance the drink. He drains it in one go and mutters a quick thanks.

“Nope,” he shakes his head, the motion makes his curls swing around.

Keith lifts a hand and slides it up on Lance’s forehead, into the fluffy locks; his heart swells when Lance sighs and leans into the touch—he always does that, always leans in whenever Keith is touching him, like he wants more, wants Keith closer and it never fails to cause Keith’s heart leaping in his ribcage.

“Why do you straighten your hair? It looks so good like this,” Keith asks, mindlessly ruffing his hair so it’ll look more—puffy.

Lance shrugs. “Dunno,” he says and hums when Keith gently scratches his scalp with his nails, his eyes fluttering shut. “’s a habit, I guess. My hair was a mess when I was, like… sixteen and it stuck with me.”

“Hm,” hums Keith, getting distracted by petting his hair. He flicks his eyes on Lance’s face; his eyes are closed and his lips are slightly agape and he’s making these soft, adorable noises when he breathes and he just looks like a tiny little kitten curled up like that, relishing under Keith’s touch.

Lance scooches towards Keith and wraps his arms around his middle, pulling him closer.

“Hey, Keith,” he mumbles against his shirt.

“Yeah?”

Lance peeks from one eye, looking up at Keith like he’s trying to decide his next words.

Lance snaps his eyes towards the coffee table and then back at Keith.

“There’s a spider on the table,” he says.

Keith gives him an unamused look; he’s not falling for this.

“Sure,” he deadpans.

Lance frowns up at him and shakes him with his arms around his middle.

“There is! Look,” Lance insists, shaking him some more.

Keith keeps giving him a blank look.

“C’mon, why aren’t you looking,” Lance grumbles and he does that thing with his cheeks—puffing them out in a way that makes Keith want to pepper them with kisses. “Look. Away.”

Keith sighs and indulges because, honestly, he can never say no to Lance.

“Oh, no, Lance,” he speaks, voice emotionless and monotone. “Where is the spider?”

Keith looks at the side and leans down so Lance can easily reach his cheek. Only he freezes. Because there, on the coffee table, between the remote and a pen, is indeed a spider that is approximately as big as his thumbnail.

“Lance,” says Keith. “There’s a spider on the table.”

Instead of an answer, Keith feels a quick smack on his cheek and _goddammit_ , Lance still caught him off guard. Keith frowns down at him; Lance has a beaming grin on his face.

“Bam-boo-zled,” he drawls happily, a blissful note to his words. Then his expression shifts into a grim one. “But seriously, Keith, kill it or I’m gonna cry.”

In the end, Keith ends up calling Pidge because he is _not killing a spider,_ it might jump and Keith is not up for a heart attack! He promises to buy them coffee every morning for the next month and Pidge, mercifully, comes over within the next ten minutes and squishes the spider, which, at some point, had moved from the table to the leg of the couch (Lance screamed and Keith quickly picked him up and bolted to the kitchen and started peeking from the door to make sure it didn’t hide away).

“You two _men_ survived a war,” Pidge says, throwing away the paper towel that has a now dead spider stuck on it. “Fought against deadly aliens twice your size and you can’t step on a spider?”

“Stop judging us, gremlin, and just save our lives without the sass,” Lance says. He has sobered up a little, from the spider and three more glasses of water. He’s still hugging Keith’s arm like a lifeline.

“Thanks, Pidge,” Keith says. “You’ll get your coffee.”

“I know. Double cream, don’t forget,” they say, patting their hands together as they close the lid of the garbage can. “Oh, and you’ll be my test bunny for a week,” they add, pointing a finger at Lance.

Lance swallows audibly. “Actually, just bring the spider back.”

“Coffee,” they repeat, looking at Keith from under their glasses. “Bunny,” they slide their gaze on Lance and leave.

“You can let go now,” Keith tells him once Pidge is gone. “The spider is dead and we’re safe now.”

Lance shakes his head, holding his arm even tighter. “Safe?! I’ve become a test bunny, a _bunny_ , Keith! Why didn’t you just call Shiro? Shiro would never make me a bunny.”

“Do you know how smug he can get?! I’d have to kill him and do you want that? You want me to become a murderer?”

Lance frowns at him. “I. Don’t. Want. To have. Green skin again.”

Keith sighs. “Let’s just go to sleep, my eyes are burning.”

“I don’ wanna sleep on the couch anymore,” he says and pouts, glaring at the couch like the spider incident was completely its fault—he kind of looks like an actual bunny, grumpy and sulk, Keith might actually die.

And then his mind catches up to his words.

“Oh,” Keith says. “Okay, then… I guess we’re gonna have to share my bed?” his voice is careful and timid because, _holy_ _cow_ , they’ve taken a couple of naps together on the couch but have never actually _slept_ together. In an actual _bed_. For an entire night. Keith’s heart is, positively, breaking through his chest.

“Yay!” Lance whoops, letting go of him to throw his hands in the air but quickly claims Keith’s arm again. Lance grins at him brightly. “Cuddles with Keithyyy!”

“Oh my God,” Keith huffs, his lips betraying him as they quirk up into a fond smile. His previous nervousness makes way to a giddy feeling, not unpleasant.

Lance giggles when Keith snakes his arm around his shoulder and brings him closer to pinch his cheeks. His heart is swelling with a feeling so bright and warm that it could easily replace the starts.

He walks into the bedroom, keeping Lance by his side.

“You know what?” Lance says after rolling under the covers and becoming a human burrito.

“What?” echoes Keith, his voice fond and amused. He lies next to Lance, hoping he won’t feel (or hear) how rapid his heart is beating and slowly slides his arm around Lance’s waist.

Lance scooches closer so he’s face to face with him, looking at Keith in the eyes; it’s dark, but under the faint silver rays of moonlight Keith can make out just how unique and breathtaking the blue of Lance’s eyes is. “I think it’s endearing that you’re afraid of spiders,” whispers Lance, a lazy smile morphing his lips.

Keith breathes out a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lance nods, blinking sleepily.

He’s close. Lance is really close, and he’s _letting_ Keith hold him close. And Keith feels like _he’s_ the drunk one, drunk on proximity and the other’s warmth and how Lance’s breath is brushing against his face and how blue, so blue his eyes are.

And Lance looks at him—looks _into_ him—his eyes a little groggy and half-lidded but his gaze nevertheless intense and captivating, because Keith is suddenly unable to do anything but stare into them and hope that he’s still breathing. Then his eyes, ever the traitors, travel down and down until they’re looking at Lance’s lips, agape and soft and… so wanted.

And he could kiss Lance. Right now. He only has to lean in. Just that. Nothing more except to lean in and close the gap between them and kiss him. Kiss him until Lance is breathless and even more drunk than he already is. And Keith thinks that he might—lean in and let the urge—the urge to touch and to feel and to taste and to—

Lance lets out a soft, quiet snore. And it’s like cold water on his burning desire; Keith snaps out of his haze and breathes in so deep his lungs start to ache.

 _Not now,_ he thinks _. Not when Lance can’t say no._

Keith pulls Lance near so his head is just against his heart—it still beats ruthlessly—and cradles the back of his head with a hand, feeling how soft his hair is, feeling how close he can exactly hold him.

Keith kisses his temple, and it’s just as sincere as the actual kiss would’ve been.

 

_\+ juan_

It’s one in the morning when someone starts banging the hell out of Keith’s door. It’s probably Shiro, Adam probably hid the coffee and he’s here to drink Keith’s.

Keith tries to ignore it and focuses on the documentary about planktons that… he still doesn’t know how he ended up watching.

The banging doesn’t stop, so Keith, relentlessly, shoves the blanket and some snacks away with a muted groan and trudges to the door. He opens it, frowning, a harsh “what do you want” ready at the tip of his tongue. But his expression shifts into a surprised—pleasantly surprised—one as Lance beams at him.

“Hi,” he breathes heavily.

Keith blinks. “Hey?” He keeps staring.

Lance starts to fidget a little. Despite the bright smile, his face looks tired. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, right, of course,” Keith starts and moves aside to let him in.

Lance walks past him and into the apartment. Keith closes the door, still a little caught off guard by Lance’s sudden appearance. He furrows his brows, confused and a little concerned, but before he can voice his worry, Lance speaks:

“I want to dance.”

Keith blinks, again.

“Um, now?”

“Yes.”

“Um.”

Lance turns around and walks into the living room, all the while talking so fast Keith has to strain to catch the words. Keith follows him suit.

“I was just chillin’, you know, my skincare done and all and I was just planning on going to bed—aka watching The Office,” Lance looks over his shoulder, a brow raised and a smirk on his lips; Keith still blinks at him. “But then it hit me. Keith!” Lance turns around and Keith barely manages not to bump into him. He lifts his hands and plants them firmly on Keith’s shoulders. “We’ve never danced!”

Keith just stares at him, he vaguely hears the documentary still playing on TV, but it soon becomes white noise as Keith’s brain works hard to catch up with what Lance has just said. Lance keeps looking at him, smiling patiently; his hands are warm against the material of Keith’s hoodie.

“It’s one in the morning,” he blurts out, a little lamely.

“Yeah.”

“You came all the way over here. At one in the morning. So we could dance.”

“Yes,” Lance nods.

Keith narrows his eyes at him.

“Well?” Lance prompts, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

“I don’t really have a choice here,” Keith sighs, but smiles as soon as Lance’s face lights up with a cheeky smile—it reminds Keith of starlight.

Lance kisses him briefly on the cheek, it’s chaste and hasty, and amazing. He spins around on his heels and turns the TV off, moving the coffee table so they have some more room to—

Oh. Oh, God, to dance. Keith will step on his feet so much that Lance will start lumping.

“I. I don’t know how to dance, though,” he says, looking at Lance sheepishly from under his eyelashes.

“I figured,” Lance shrugs, fishing out his comm and scrolling through it, probably searching for the right song. “But don’t worry, we’re supposed to have fun, not a performance— _aha!”_ Lance exclaims victoriously and faces Keith with a bright smile.

“Don’t blame me when your toes fall off,” Keith warns, trying to cover up how nervous he truly is.

“It’s a sacrifice I am willing to make,” he says solemnly, and then the music starts.

Lance taps his foot and slowly wiggles closer to him while Keith tries not to laugh and groan at the same time.

“Elvis? Really?”

“What? It’s classic.”

“It’s _ancient!”_

“What’s your point?”

Keith sighs. Lance smiles.

“ _You can shake an apple off an apple tree,”_ he sings along, connecting his fingers with Keith’s and curls his other arm around his waist. Keith feels his cheeks heating. “ _Shake-a, shake- sugar, but you'll never shake me.”_

“I suppose I’m Stitch?” Keith says, peaking at his feet every now and then to make sure he’s not destroying Lance’s toes.

“Yeah, duh. Alien, mostly made from anger, broody… very adorable,” Lance says with a shit-eating grin.

Keith deliberately steps on his foot, making Lance yelp.

“Ops,” he deadpans.

“You’re just proving my point.”

“If I’m anyone from that movie it’s—”

“Mr. Bubbles?” Lance cuts him off and pauses in his dancing. Keith stops with him. “You know that’s Shiro, right?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “I know, that’s why I was gonna say Jumba,” says Keith. “Bubbles is boring.”

“Boring?” Lance gasps, looking at him scandalized. “He’s the coolest, dude!”

“He’s a cliché! While Jumbo here creates awesome alien… pet thingies and has _four eyes!”_

“Four eyes? Really?”

“Oh, bite me, it’s cool,” Keith scoffs and rolls his eyes, again.

“Okay, fine. Shall I call you Daddy Jumbo.”

“Don’t. Do. That.”

“...Daddy Jum—ow!” Keith steps on him, again, harder this time.

“Adam’s Pleakley,” Keith adds as an afterthought.

“...why?”

“That’s what he deserves.”

Lance snorts.

They return to dancing; Lance puts on Elvis again, to make up for the moves they lost during arguing, as Lance says.

“You’re supposed to dance,” exclaims Lance at one point.

“I am!” Keith retorts.

“You’re not, you’re just swinging around,” he deadpans.

“Like I said before, I, Keith the Kogane, am not qualified for dancing,” Keith reminds him pointedly, furrowing his brows.

Lance sighs, tightening his arm around his waist.

“You’re lucky you have pretty eyes,” says Lance. And Keith doesn’t even have time to flush at the compliment before he’s twirling so abruptly that he yelps. Lance plants his hands on his hips and Keith’s breath hitches at how warm they feel. “Right now, your hips are lying, Keith, set them free, let the music flow,” he says, imitating a yoga instructor with his voice.

“I don’t know what that means,” Keith whispers to himself, but tries anyway. It’s… something, surely not dancing but it’s more than just swaying at a spot.

Lance instructs him some more, quoting stuff like _let the melody take control over you_ or _follow him, Keith, follow Elvis._ He tells Keith to close his eyes when he snaps that his instructions literally make no sense to him.

Keith grunts. “Can’t I just sway? I think I got the hang of it.”

“No, dancing is fun, Keith, come on,” Lance whines. “Now, close ‘em.”

Keith grunts again, low in his throat. It feels unfair that Lance gets to see him do humiliating moves that are the poorest excuse of a dance. It feels vulnerable and completely out of his comfort zone. It’s new.

Keith obliges anyway because he’s with Lance and he’s learning to let him in, he wants to let him in, to open up for Lance and be honest and true with him.

“Don’t peek,” he hears Lance warn and scoffs.

“I’ll try,” he teases.

Lance finds his hand and links their fingers together, his other arm curls around his middle, again. And Keith’s heart skips seven beats, again, and his cheeks are burning.

“Follow my lead,” he whispers; Keith thinks his voice is much closer than it should be. He manages a small nod and then the music changes.

It’s a song Keith doesn’t recognize.

“Is this a modern one?”

“Nope, still old.”

“Do you have an antique playlist or something?” he jokes.

“Yeah, actually,” says Lance, dead serious.

“Oh.”

Keith quiets down when Lance starts moving, circling around the living room; the song is slow and soft and low, and Lance moves exactly like that—slow and soft and delicate. Keith feels the exact moment when Lance pulls him near, closer. He feels Lance’s breath faintly ghost against his face, and his chest flutters when Lance slides his arm lower on his back, resting it more comfortable there. And it’s all so new yet familiar like they’ve done this a hundred times before and never at the same time. He’s reminded of the day they went to eat sushi, the way Lance kept touching him like it’s a habit, brushing his hair like it’s so simple and casual.

_“When you lit that pipe, it caused me a terrible fright.”_

The words drip, filling the room with sweet notes and melodies, and Keith’s not sure if it’s the way Lance is holding him—holding him close and careful and caring—or if it’s the song itself, or both, but he sighs and leans further into Lance, feeling a special kind of peacefulness and calm.

After a while they slow down and end up swaying side to side at one place—Keith’s a bit relieved, at least he won’t step on him anymore. With that out of the way, Keith relaxes even more. And he only now notices how tense Lance is, how he’s not just holding him close but almost protectively. Keith not sure why or how, he just knows Lance didn’t come here just because of dancing.

“Where do you even find these songs?” he asks, attempting to lighten the mood that’s gotten somewhat blue. Keith keeps his voice as a whisper, low and quiet and subtle—he thinks it’s more appropriate.

“Most of them are from my mom’s playlist, she likes old songs, too,” says Lance with an equally quiet voice. He pulls Keith to him, again, almost hugging him.

“Lance,” he says, concerned. “You—is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

Keith leans away to look at him, his brows furrowed, creating a worried line between them. Lance looks so much more tired than when he arrived, the bags under his eyes seem heavier and his entire expression is just… droopy. Exhausted.

Keith frowns. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”

“I told you,” Lance starts, he sounds a little defensive. “I realized we’ve never danced before and—"

“Besides that,” Keith cuts in, but he speaks gently as if trying not to scare him away. They’ve stopped moving; the song continues playing in the background.

Lance works his jaw, and Keith waits patiently. He squeezes Lance’s hand—it’s a mere pressure to let him know Keith is there for him, he’ll always be there for Lance no matter what.

Lance sighs after a moment and Keith sees exactly when his facade cracks—his shoulders slump and his eyes drop and he just seems smaller and so vulnerable that Keith’s heart aches, his hands twitch with the urge to wrap around him and protect him from—from whatever it is that has him looking like this.

“Not now,” Lance whispers, eyes focused on the floor. His voice is so quiet, so small. Keith squeezes his hand, again, more on instinct than anything else.. “I’ll tell you, but… now I just want to dance with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Keith nods, making sure his voice is soft enough for Lance to know it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to. Lance smiles at him, broken and weak but still smiles.

Lance moves his hands to curl them around Keith’s neck and leans in. He brushes his lips across Keith’s scar, leaving a kiss so soft and featherlight that Keith feels a shiver run down his spine. He feels goosebumps on his neck and arms and hopes that Lance won’t notice. The way he giggles tells Keith that he did, in fact, notice.

“Shut up,” Keith mumbles; he struggles to hide his smile.

He plants his hands on each side of Lance’s waist. Lance sighs and leans his head onto Keith’s, his short locks sweep the side of Keith’s face. They fall silent, listening to music and dancing along the slow notes.

The smell of coconuts tickles Keith’s nose and the soft breath from the other boy ghosts against the back of his neck. Lance radiates sunlight and right now, with his chest almost flushed with Keith’s, Keith feels exactly how warm that special sunlight is. And if he focuses enough, he can almost feel the faint thudding of Lance’s heart; Keith has never felt more content in his life.

And then the song changes and Keith’s eyes grow so wide he fears his eyeballs might fall out.

“Lance.”

“Hm.”

“Is this the mashup I told you about,” Keith says. “The one I couldn’t find online anymore?”

“Oh, shit!” Lance pushes away. He looks at Keith and smiles at him sheepishly. “I forgot to tell you. Uh, surprise, I found it,” he says and makes shaky gestures with his hands.

Keith keeps staring at him. Lance casts his eyes to the side, probably feeling flustered under Keith’s gaze.

“It was a pain, but then I came across this website that’s, like, a gallery for old songs and found it there,” he adds, rubbing his neck. “You were on a mission so I couldn’t call you immediately and then I kind of… forgot, so,” he breathes out. “Yeah.”

It’s so simple. Lance just found the song Keith was searching for a really long time. This song isn’t even his favorite, just something he likes to have on his playlist because on certain days it’s perfect to listen to it.

It’s so simple, yet Keith thinks he might melt into the floor or he might blow up, might explode by the sudden surge of fondness towards this boy, this adorable boy standing in front of him, looking all shy and sincere and so _beautiful_.

And because Keith is feeling a mixture of emotions right now, all of them so warm and so devoted and so wholesome, and because Lance is looking at him bashfully from under his eyelashes and because Keith can’t resist the urge anymore, he acts just as simple.

“You also forgot to notice the new vase on the table,” he says casually, jerking his head towards the coffee table behind Lance.

“What?” Lance pipes, furrowing his brows and turns his confused face to check the nonexistent vase out.

He freezes when Keith slowly closes the gap between their lips.

Keith lingers a second longer, his lips a gentle peck at the corner of Lance’s mouth, and leans away. His heart beats in his throat and he feels the heat swallow him entirely as if his blood has been replaced by lava.

“This okay?” he asks, looking at Lance nervously, a sting of fear in his heart that, maybe, he crossed a line.

But then Lance smiles, a cheeky, toothy smile that has his whole face beaming and shining almost as bright as the sun and Keith lets out a relieved breath.

“More than,” he says and kisses him.

It’s not really a kiss at first, both of them smiling too much and too wide, but it soon settles into something soft, something gentle and timid. It’s new, an unexplored territory, both of them careful not to overstep.

Keith finds Lance’s hands and entwines their fingers, because, suddenly, the kiss feels so less, and he wants so much more.

He sighs and with newfound courage deepens the kiss, tilting his head a little so their lips can fit so perfectly together. Lance kisses back and the way his lips move, so passionately and so eager, it sets Keith on fire all over again. And his chest is overflowing with emotions and his fingers are pulsing and he thinks that he might actually start floating. God, why didn’t he do this sooner?

“Took you long enough,” Lance blurts out between kisses.

“I just—didn’t want to rush into things,” Keith answers, breathless.

Lance just hums and kisses him some more. His hand comes up to cradle Keith’s jaw, his touch subtle, making Keith’s heart jump and fills his chest with want. Keith slides his free hand to Lance’s collar, fisting the shirt there when Lance does a particularly nice thing with his jaw. Keith thinks his legs are becoming jello. He whimpers deep in his throat, because Lance tastes like coconuts, too, and Keith might actually faint.

“Are you wearing chapstick?” he asks when his lungs scream for air.

“Yeah, why?”

Keith grunts. “Because,” he says, pecking a kiss on his lips. “You taste good.”

Lance turn bright red and if Keith could, he’d pat his own back.

“Don’t just—say stuff like that.”

“Why?” Keith asks, knowing exactly why. “You do, I could kiss you forever.”

He could, he really, truly could.

“Keith!” he whines.

“And you look very beautiful when you blush,” he continues, lifting a hand to stroke his thumb across the scarlet cheeks, the skin warm and smooth under his touch. Keith's eyes trail the faded freckles and he starts to kiss them, peppering Lance’s face with short, chaste smacks of his lips.

He feels a slow smile growing on Lance’s face. And then Lance’s stomach growls.

Keith laughs against his cheek and Lance slaps his arm.

“Wanna order pizza?” Keith suggests.

“Maybe Chinese?”

“Sure.”

They end up watching the documentary, both of them slumped on the couch with empty takeout on the floor. Keith lies on his back while Lance lies on his chest, their feet tangled together. Lance has his hand in Keith’s hair, playing with the dark lock and Keith rubs tiny circles at the small of his back. It’s cozy and domestic and everything Keith could ever ask for.

He occasionally kisses the top of Lance’s head, it’s—something has shifted between them and it’s much easier and simple for Keith to, just, kiss him whenever. And his entire chest feels like fireworks. The way Lance sighs makes him think he’s enjoying this just as much.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hehe, juan, get it??
> 
> anyway, hope you enjoyed this... fluffy thing. and thanks for reading! <3
> 
> EDIT: I forgot, because how can I not (ugh), but the reason why Lance was upset is because he had a nightmare. I didn’t mention it cuz they’ve been dating for a short while and Lance can’t just open up about it. if you’re interested about the nightmares you could check out [part 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18108068), it’s literally dedicated to it. 
> 
> come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://yourfriendlyneighborsam.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/frendlysam)


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